


of keys and unusual bonds

by Nara_stories



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Book 8: Written in My Own Heart's Blood, Canon Divergence, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing and cuddling, M/M, Spoilers, Spoilers from The Scottish Prisoner (Lord John Grey series)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23483605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nara_stories/pseuds/Nara_stories
Summary: Written for the Outlander Bingo Challenge 2020 for the square “I’m locking you in there until you admit your feelings for each other!”.Claire decides, she can't watch it anymore how John and Jamie torture each other. Luckily Hal has some experience in dealing with stubborn men and offers his ideas. Their unusual partnership leads Jamie and John to sort out their own.Taking place on the night of the double Quaker wedding in MOBY.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp & Hal Grey, Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser, Jamie Fraser/Lord John Grey
Comments: 32
Kudos: 103
Collections: Outlander Bingo Challenge





	of keys and unusual bonds

**Author's Note:**

> the title was the idea of @Drivablecar, thank you!

“It is completely unnecessary, my dear. We’ve just walked back from the tavern not more than two hours ago.”

“You’re wheezing,” I pointed out.

“I am not wheezing,” he replied making an effort to sound commanding and thereby hide the fact that he indeed was doing just that.

“Harold.” Strangely, that always did the trick. The corner of the duke’s mouth ticked upwards.

“I can’t believe my brother ever married you out of his own free will, my dear, you’re quite relentless,” he said but stood up from the chair where he was sitting by the window. I took his arm, and all but dragged Hal Grey through the people who crowded the rooms of Number 17 Chestnut Street.

Being a physician was not something you just put down and forgot about it when attending a party. So when I noticed Hal being on his way to another asthma attack from the tobacco smoke, I parted from Jamie and decided to take him out for a walk.

The Grey brothers only came back to Philadelphia for Dottie’s and Denzell’s wedding – which was also Rachel’s and Ian’s. Since John didn’t live there anymore Number 17 Chestnut Street stood almost empty, Mrs. Bug taking care of it, and preparing to send John’s remaining possessions after him once it was decided where. So naturally, it was only sensible, that after having a few drams in the White Camel tavern that was right next to the Anabaptist Meeting House where the wedding was held, the celebration would move to the house. This also provided a perfect opportunity for the newlyweds to slip away.

The party has been going on for a few hours now, and everyone was more than slightly tipsy, myself included, so it felt nice to be outside. It wasn’t called Chestnut Street for nothing: one side of the road was lined with old chestnut trees. There was birdsong from the treetops and I saw a squirrel hurry up a trunk of a tree. The sun was going down, but the late summer air still felt warm as we started down the street. I’ve heard Hal draw in a deep breath and I shot a pointed look towards him.

He let out a quiet laugh, that reminded me of his brother. Both of them had a soft, genuine laugh that somehow stood in complete contrast with the way they commanded the people around them when in uniform. As if reading my mind, he spoke up.

“Are they not speaking to each other again? Your husband and my brother?”

I looked up, surprised that he noticed it and that he had an opinion on the matter. Unsure about how to approach it without giving too much away I asked back.  
“What do you mean, again?”  
He looked vaguely surprised, but then he remembered something.  
“Oh, you wouldn’t know of course. I believe you were in France at the time.”

I instantly stiffened. I didn’t like to be reminded of the time I’ve spent apart from Jamie in “France”. Hal, who despite his ways was quite observant noticed my uneasiness.  
“I apologize, my dear. How foolish of me to remind you of that time your husband was a convicted prisoner of war. Let us not speak of it further.”

But my attention was already captured.

“No, I want to hear it. It is highly unlikely that either of them would speak to me about it,” I added.  
Hal was silent for a few steps, his boot heels clicking on the cobblestones, but then started speaking again.

“Well, it is only that I have experienced a similar disagreement between my brother and Mr. Fraser before. They do have the most peculiar and unlikely friendship, don’t they?”  
“They had,” I answered with some sadness. There was a time when I would have been happy to see Jamie cut John out of his life. That was before I saw the raw grief on John’s face, which was a match to my own. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure that it is the end of it,” Hal answered. “You know, when your husband was at Helwater on parole, my brother went visiting every quarter like clockwork. I’ve never seen a parole officer take his job so seriously.” He laughed again. “And then he practically wouldn’t shut up about him for a week after, so it became quite clear to me that for some reason he admired the man and that they’ve formed some sort of a friendship.”

He spoke with what seemed like genuine amusement and I’ve wondered not for the first time how much he knew about his brother’s inclinations.

“But then, he avoided going to Helwater for more than a whole year,” he continued. “I have only learned about this after, of course, because I needed your husband’s particular skillset for a sensitive matter, but it was very unusual of him.”

I looked at him, wondering if I should ask what that matter was, but then I actually wanted to hear the end of the story, so I didn’t.

“I asked John’s assistance in the matter and was quite bewildered when he outright refused to speak to Mr. Fraser. I believe the exact turn of speech he used was ‘I wouldn’t piss on him if he were to burn in the fires of Hell.’” I could help but laugh. A few years prior I could never imagine someone so polite and proper as Lord John Grey speaking such words, but after living in his household I’ve got to learn his impulsive side as well that was solely lead by his heart.

“What did you do?” I asked. Jamie has never mentioned this story, but I could easily imagine Hal’s actions. He was infuriatingly used to putting people where he wanted them.

“I’ve sent for Mr. Fraser myself, of course,” he confirmed what I’ve thought, then added: “He wasn’t any more pleased about the reunion.”

I wondered, what could have led to this fight between them, but didn’t need to think long about it.

It was always the same. John loving Jamie, and by expressing it, accidentally conjuring up the ghost of a man. A man, who was also half-monster: Johnathan Black Jack Randall.

“And how did you make them speak to each other again?” I asked. I wasn’t afraid anymore of that particular ghost, but Jame was, and that fact alone made my heartache.  
“This sensitive matter required them to go to Ireland. Together. So I persuaded them, of course.”  
I shot a sharp look towards him.  
“Persuaded?”  
“With the right measures,” he answered shamelessly. I could imagine, that it probably involved some sort of carefully planted threat. Hal Grey was high-handedness incarnate.

He shrugged. “Whatever happened, it was for the better. A few weeks later they came back, and it was like nothing happened.”

“So what is your conclusion then?” I asked, already suspecting the answer. He turned towards me and smiled.

“If you want them to mend whatever disagreement they’re having now – which I want to point out, I’m not in the least interested in – then you probably should apply some pressure on them to spend contemplative time together. I may find their friendship unusual, but even I can see, that it is best for everyone when they are on speaking terms with each other. Whatever you may think of me, I don’t enjoy seeing my brother hurt,” he added.

I held his gaze, then nodded.  
“Me neither.” An idea was forming in my head. “And I think I can still persuade Mrs. Bug to give me the keys to the study. Only if you could pass on a message to your brother…”

***

Jamie felt relaxed from the drinks and the celebration, seeing the two young couples happily married. Mrs. Bug has given him a note from Claire and led him to the study that was on the furthest end of the building on the second floor. Claire asked him to wait here, and he wondered what it was about, but wasn’t exactly worried. For now, they were in no mortal danger anymore, so the fact that his wife wanted a bit of privacy was probably nothing to worry about.  
The room was not too big, but there was a sturdy wooden desk, a sofa by the far end and two tall bookshelves on either side of the window. He walked there to occupy himself. It was a nice collection of books with a lot of classics he also liked, and he found himself nodding approvingly. On one of the shelves, there was a small bowl full of odd little trinkets. A smooth river stone, a black feather – maybe a crow’s – and a broken silver necklace lay there amongst other assorted small items. Jamie picked up a white chess piece that was on top of the pile and turned it around in his hand. It was a white pawn carved out of wood, probably sorely missing from a travel set somewhere. He set it back in the bowl that looked a little bit like a magpie’s nest.

He heard footsteps approach, and turned, midway realizing, that those didn’t belong to Claire. The book titles were still swirling around in his head and it was a second later that he became aware of the fact that he knew the mind that arranged that bookshelf. With it came the realization in whose study he was standing in, just a moment before Lord John Grey himself stepped into the room.

Their gazes locked, and his eyes widened. Grey looked even more surprised than Jamie felt if that was possible. Before either of them could say anything there was a sound, and Grey whirled around. Jamie glanced at the same direction just in time to see the door being shut. There was an audible click as someone turned the key in the lock.

Jamie crossed the room in two steps and yanked on the door handle. It did not budge.  
“Claire?” he asked in a raised voice that clearly conveyed the betrayal he felt at that moment. 

There was a hushed conversation on the other side of the door, and it wasn’t Claire who answered him. It was that high-handed English bastard and the last time Jamie was this mad at him was when he refused to shoot him.

“I do not care what the trouble is with you two again, but sort it out by the morning,” Hal said. “You are upsetting Mrs. Fraser.”  
It was John’s turn to sound enraged.  
“Hal! Don’t be ridiculous!”  
Jamie pounded his fist against the door, but it was of no use.  
“Sassenach, are ye there? Open the door!”  
“I’m sorry, Jamie, but I cannot watch this anymore,” Claire answered firmly.  
John looked vaguely panicked.  
“Claire, please, you can’t do this!” he pleaded. “Your husband will kill me.”  
Jamie’s vision turned red around the edges.  
“Ye will address him properly as Mrs. Fraser,” he grunted.

John, who has stepped up to him by the door, now quickly retreated. There was a defiant set to his jaws, one that Jamie has seen not so long ago, right before he yelled after him that he was not bloody sorry for fucking his wife. Jamie’s hands curled into fists.

Claire spoke up in the hallway.  
“You are acting childish, Jamie. I’ll let you out in the morning.”  
Jamie huffed. _Childish? Childish?!_

He heard footsteps retreating, and realized that they indeed locked them in the room for the night. 

He turned towards Grey and they’ve silently stared at each other. The other man was impeccably dressed as always and didn’t wear a wig, probably because of the heat. His hair was neatly trimmed to the same level now, not just haphazardly hacked off with a knife, but the shortness of it made him look younger. Jamie felt a pang of regret, for Grey always took pride in having well-groomed hair, even when he oversaw a prison in the middle of nowhere. He didn’t know where the feeling came from and he firmly pushed it down. He refused to think about the way sunlight used to make a golden halo on his hair.

It was John, who blinked first. Jamie noticed, that his left eye wasn’t swollen or bloodshot anymore, but on his pale skin, there were still faint, yellow bruises, bearing the marks of his knuckles. And there it was that pesky feeling again. Jamie stomped on it and reached for his anger instead.

Why did this keep happening to him? Why did he find himself forced in the company of Lord John bloody Grey of all people? This man, who simultaneously managed to intrigue him, take him off guard, and then piss him off like no one else?

He turned his back on him and stared out to the dark streets of Philadelphia instead.

“We have nothing to say to each other,” he said, making an effort to make his voice cold as possible. “I’ve already thanked ye for taking care of Claire, and now I consider all debts paid.”

“Yes, I remember,” there was an underlying tone in John’s polite voice, something not unlike humour, but not genuine mirth either. “It was right before you started to beat the life out of me if I remember correctly.”

Jamie whirled back towards him.  
“In case ye’ve forgotten, there was something said in between, ye wee bastard,” he managed to point out through clenched teeth.

Grey picked up the same white pawn from the bowl and started absentmindedly rolling it between his fingers. Jamie didn’t understand why it made his insides all tie up in knots like that.

“I have not said anything that wasn’t true or that you didn’t know already,” Grey replied sounding indignant. “And the fact that you don’t want to look at something doesn’t make it any less true.”

“I see enough truths from here, alright. Should I make a list for ye?” Jamie gritted out taking an instinctive step towards Grey. “First, ye have slept with my wife¬̶—” 

“Oh, no,” John cut him off. “You don’t get to make that point. It was never about that and we both know it.” And just because the idiot couldn’t keep his mouth shut, he added. “I have slept with _my_ wife at the time, when we both thought her previous husband _drowned_.”

There was this faint buzzing sound in Jamie’s ears and he reminded himself to ask Claire again exactly how blood pressure worked. Could he get so mad he exploded on the spot?

“Sometimes, my lord, I think ye provoke me just to get my hands on ye one way or the other.”

Grey squeezed the pawn into his fist, his eyes shooting daggers.  
“It was never a question which way it will be, was it? Because you, Mr. Fraser are the touchiest, most aggressive son of a bitch I have ever known.”

 _Touchy? Touchy?!_ Jamie lost the last bit of self-control he possessed.

“Should I just quietly tolerate the advances of every bloody Englishman, who not only want to take my home away but my body too?” He spat. “If you don’t understand that, you have no notion of honour and that is the reason why we cannae ever be on the same side.”

Almost instinctively he knew, he has cut too deep. The chess piece fell out of John's hand, making a sharp sound on the wooden floor. Jamie was aware that he won this round, but was it worth it?

“I wish I’ve never met you, sir” Grey choked out, and the sentence hung between them like an echo of a gunshot. There was painful truth in the words, and unshed tears trembling in those pale blue eyes.  
It was like a bucket of cold water on Jamie’s emotions, and he felt his throat constrict.

John turned his back on him, and Jamie saw him quickly wipe at his eyes with the back of his hand. He walked as far away from Jamie as he could in the same room, and sat down on the sofa at the far end of the room.

Jamie turned back towards the window and leaned on the windowsill staring at his reflection, panic thrumming through his veins.

What has he done?

He told himself it didn’t matter because it was probably the last time he ever saw the man.  
_Oh, no._  
There was a sharp pain in his chest just from the thought of it.

He was surprised to notice that his hands were shaking, and that was how he knew that he was afraid. It was laughable, really. He felt threatened by John bloody Grey of all people, and that was why he was lashing out like a mad man. He cursed himself. 

Jamie always told himself, it was because of Jack Randall that he couldn’t bear the thought of John wanting him that way.

But it was never a real question, that John would never even try to hurt him like that. So maybe, it was about something else entirely. Jamie stubbornly refused to turn and look at the man.

He has desperately tried to keep him at arm’s length this whole time, but somehow John always managed to get closer. And Jamie realized now, that this was because he let him. He wanted him closer, even if it terrified him at the same time. And this was how somewhere along the way he turned into a man, who hurt someone, who never deserved it. Just like Randall. 

He turned into his own worst nightmare, even if he didn’t take pleasure from it. Even if he never intended to be like that. 

There was such a knot of emotions in his chest: fear, shame, guilt. Fear of being loved by a man, shame of what he’s done. Guilt just from the thought of being unfaithful to Claire. But no… she would understand.

And then there was his bloody pride. But he gave that one up for Claire before and he decided that John was worth that sacrifice too. The truth was, that he couldn’t bear the thought of losing him entirely.

Jamie took a deep breath and turned around. He slowly walked over to where the white pawn has rolled halfway under the desk and picked it up. He stared at it, then spoke before he could go back on his decision.

“I apologize.” 

He forced himself to look up and was met by a stunned pair of blue eyes. It knocked the air out of his lungs. He took a shaking breath in and walked closer.

“’tis not ye, John. It never was.” He stopped next to John and then sat down on the carpet, leaning his head against the sofa. Not too close, but within reach. He offered up the chess piece towards John.  
“I’ve tried to force ye to play a role. To be the only thing I’ve known an Englishman to be: cruel.” He smiled a sad smile “But ye’re not. And I apologize for it.”

He saw John swallow, and then he reached out, taking the pawn from his hand, accepting it as a white flag of truce. Their fingers brushed and it wasn’t an accident. No, John’s gaze held his. A challenge. It sent a thrill up Jamie’s arm, and he let some of that show on his face. John’s look turned into surprise.

And there it was. The feeling that fluttered between them, ran down his spine and curled up warmly in his belly. They didn’t even need to mention it aloud now. It took some effort, not to deny it, or lash out in panic, but Jamie let it be and was rewarded by the tiniest of smiles appearing on John’s lips. 

“Would ye give me one last chance, John?” Jamie asked quietly.  
“For what?” John asked back, his voice hoarse, eyes honest and open.  
“For learning to love ye.” Jamie answered simply.

John inhaled sharply and it filled Jamie with a strange satisfaction. He pushed himself up onto the sofa. “Ye ken, I have the suspicion that I already do. I was just too much of a coward until now to examine it closer,” he continued with a light tone.

John shook his head with a little huff. There was a pink flush to his cheekbones.  
“I don’t think I could ever not forgive you, Jamie Fraser, and you bloody know it.”

It made Jamie’s heart do something he wasn’t used to experiencing other than with Claire. He reached out slowly and took one of John’s hands. It was cold and shaking slightly just like his own. He looked back into his eyes, serious.  
“I give ye my word, that I will never raise a hand on ye again.”  
John arched an elegant brow.  
“Even if I punched you right now?”  
Jamie huffed out a laugh.  
“Aye. Even if ye punched me. I would deserve it.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. John, instead of punching him reached out a hand and stroked his face with the back of his fingers. Jamie felt his breath hitch. He mirrored the movement cupping John’s cheek, gently running a thumb along the yellow bruises. John closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. Jamie bent closer and placed a gentle kiss on his left eyelid. Another apology.

John visibly shuddered and Jamie found that once he started, he couldn’t get his hands off the man. John opened his eyes halfway, watching him under long eyelashes. Jamie outlined his mouth with a thumb, then stroked across his bottom lip. John Grey did have unfairly pretty lips. He stared, transfixed, as a tongue darted out to wet them. He gave in to the urge and bent down to claim those lips in a soft kiss.

John melted into the touch, instinctively leaning towards him with a low moan. Jamie bracketed his face with his other hand and kissed him again long and gentle, sliding his fingers into the soft hair on his temple. When he pulled away he was met with the most beautiful, boyish smile he’s ever got from the man.

“So, I guess, they really won’t let us out until morning, then?”

“Nay, I’m afraid both of them are stubborn enough to go through with their threats.”

They’ve ended up settling on the sofa, with Jamie’s back against the wall, John leaning against his chest. He took the end of his plaid and covered them both with it as best as he could.

“It was true what you’ve said though,” John spoke up stifling a yawn. Jamie made an enquiring noise in the back of his throat. John was a comfortable weight in his arms. He didn’t feel like moving a muscle.  
“That we are still not on the same side.” There was a touch of sadness in his voice.

Jamie stroked a hand up John’s chest, wanting to comfort him.  
“We’ll figure something out. We always do.”

When Jamie finally fell asleep, he dreamt of holding both his Sassenach and this stubborn Englishman in his arms.


End file.
